


Note to self: Remind people to Respect you First

by Green_Sphynx



Series: Spanking Sunday [14]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Dubious Conset Spanking turning to Enthusiastic Consent Sex, Flarrowverse Shipyard, M/M, Spanking Sunday, angst and feelings, not that Len and Mick do feelings, oculus fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 11:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17120279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx
Summary: Mick was fairly sure he put the whole 'seeing dead Snart talking to him' behind him years ago, and yet here the bastard is, all over again. At this point, Snart more than deserved a thorough punishment for causing this whole mess by blowing himself up.





	Note to self: Remind people to Respect you First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [klep (kleptoandpyro)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleptoandpyro/gifts).



> A fanfic for ColdWave Winter Week 2018  
> 24th Dec - Oculus Fix
> 
> This was not originally intended to be for CWWW, but then it was pointed out to me that it actually fit the last day's theme. Downside: This _was_ written as a Spanking Sunday fic, and the last day of CWWW is on a Monday. So let's all just squint and pretend it's Sunday the 24th for a moment.  
> The winter theme for CWWW is well hidden, but present. Sue me.

Len knew he was in trouble when Mick actually stopped eating at the sight of him.

He knew he was in _deep, deep_ trouble when Mick put his sandwich down without even giving it a second look, standing up and approaching Len like he was seeing a ghost.

Len wasn't a man easily cowed. He would take a challenge head-on, usually calculating his way out of trouble long before any fist reached him. But this was Mick and Len wasn't entirely sure what he had done to make his partner approach him with such dark intent.

Even so he refused to flinch or even cringe when Mick's hand came up to his face, determined to meet the fist face-first like a man because this was Mick and there was probably a good reason he was getting punched, but then Mick's hand landed heavily on the nape of his neck instead, squeezing painfully tight.

"You real this time?"

Len needed a moment to process that unexpected question. He glanced at Mick's arm, then squinted suspiciously at his face. Mick's expression was a mix of distrust and hope, and especially the latter was not something Len had ever seen on his face before. And the question was just plain weird. When had Len ever not been real?

But upon closer inspection, Mick looked older. Too old, like years had passed. And thinking about it, Len wasn't entirely sure what he'd been doing before walking into the Waverider's kitchen area.

_Thinking_ about it, there was a very suspicious gap in his memory.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He finally hedged carefully, keeping his eyes on Mick's face to search for hints. Mick's eyebrows scrunched up a little with frustration, but that strange hopeful glimmer in his eyes wasn't leaving. He had crows feet that were deeper than before, crinkling as Mick squinted at him appraisingly. The set of his jaw was the same, but his skin seemed a little duller than before. Most notably though, there was a small, barely visible scar near the curve of his jaw on the right that Len was certain he'd never seen before.

"What are you doin' here, Snart." It wasn't even phrased as a question. Like Mick was tired of asking this over and over again. Len couldn't remember hearing it before.

Worse was that he didn't actually have an answer. He had no idea what he was doing here, and that was not like him at all. He always had a plan; a goal for every step he took and every word he said.

He couldn't just admit he didn't know, though.

"Have I been banned from getting food?" He questioned instead, twisting out from under Mick's hand to make his way over to the food fabricator. Several things were _off_ in the kitchen area - a plant he hadn't seen before, objects being arranged oddly, Christmas mugs. Names on Ray's chore wheel that Len had never seen before.

"Yeah you are." Len froze at Mick's tone, dropped back into dangerous levels. "You were banned from getting food when you fucking blew yourself up."

"Excuse me?" He couldn't have heard that right. Len turned around to give Mick an incredulous look, but before he could react he had both of those bear paws on him, grabbing him tight by his shoulders with thumbs digging into his collar bones as Mick dragged him close to study his face.

Len raised his eyebrows in a challenge, because Mick pulled him close enough to kiss but was just standing there studying his face like he had never seen it up close before.

"So you survived. Why come back now?"

"Survived _what_ , Mick?" Len tried to brush Mick's hands off, but the man wasn't budging. It was making Len very uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"I know you're not an earlier version," Mick told him accusingly, as if that made any sense. "They taught me this shit when they made me Chronos. You sayin' you don't remember blowing yourself up with the Oculus?"

"I certainly don't remember you being able to use words that long." Len bit when cornered. Mick knew that.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Len clenched his teeth, avoiding Mick's eyes. He had _no idea_ what his last memory was and that was the most worrying thing of all.

"Remember that Savage dick? The Time assholes working for him?"

Len nodded, uncertain. "Yeah, I do. We found out they had been manipulating us all the way and we went back to fix it." His brows furrowed when he had absolutely no recollection of how they intended to do that. He just knew they went there and succeeded - or they must have succeeded?

"Yeah, we blew up the Oculus for that. But someone had to hold the switch. I was gonna do it but then knocked me out and did it instead. You blew up with it."

No recollection whatsoever. The whole 'Oculus' word wasn't ringing any bells in the first place. All he could do was slowly shake his head, eyebrows pinched in disbelief.

"Don't believe me?"

"Never heard about an Oculus before."

Mick's frown grew deeper, and he moved their faces a little closer. It was a threat and Len was well aware, everything in him screaming this was the time for the flight in 'fight or flight', but even if he could break free from Mick's grip on him, Len couldn't just turn tail and run from _Mick_.

"But you don't deny you would blow yourself up to save my life."

Not a question. A statement. Because Mick knew the answer, and he knew Len would hate to admit it.

Had this been a question a few years earlier Len would've laughed and denied it without a second thought. Okay he would've given a second thought about _doing_ it - saving Mick's life at the cost of his own, that is - but he wouldn't dream of admitting it. And probably not actually do it either.

But things had changed. Things had started to change when the Flash came to Central City and forced Len to change his game, and then they went all off course when they joined the crew of the Waverider. Len didn't join to be a hero, he joined to be a thief. And yet, here he was, unable to deny he would give his life for Mick's.

Clearly Len's silence was enough answer - oh it would be - because Mick stopped staring at him as if trying to identify the dirt in his pores and dragged him out of the kitchen area instead. Len actually stumbled, to his great dismay, but begrudgingly let Mick drag him around. Apparently to Mick's room, which had gotten a whole lot fuller and messier since the last time Len had seen it.

"Welcome back, Mr. Snart," sounded Gideon's cheerful voice as Mick slammed his hand on the mechanism that would close the door. "It's good to see you back and in one piece."

"Apparently," Len muttered, suspicious about Mick not releasing him from the grip he'd kept on the nape of his neck all this time.

"It would appear that by the destruction of the Oculus its existence has been removed from the memory of all except those present. Your assumed death must have discounted you as being present, hence your lack in memory."

"So I'm dead? What am I doing here if I'm dead?"

"Getting punished for dying on me, is what."

Len would forever deny that he yelped as Mick dragged him down over his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. He kicked in protest, but Mick had always been stronger than him, and Mick was definitely not accepting any counter argument at the moment.

"My readings all suggest you are alive and well, Mr. Snart," Gideon provided helpfully, completely ignoring that Mick was dragging Len's pants down. Len felt fabric rip against the sensitive skin of his thighs and he did yelp this time: a loud protest at the treatment he was receiving.

"Mick! Dammit, stop that! You're not going to spank me like a little kid!"

"You bet I am."

"The timing of your return might be related to the current anniversary of your demise, and the magical creatures the Legends have been fighting lately."

"Magical-? Ow, Mick!" Yeah, Mick was really not beating around the bush here. And he knew how to land a hit, even with the flat of his hand.

Len's behind was not prepared for an assault like this. Lewis had been a rotten bastard who liked to hit Len, but he'd never actually _spanked_ him. There had never been much meat on Len's arse to cushion the palm of a large hand smacking down on it.

"Less chatter, more punishment."

"As you wish, Mr. Rory."

Len kicked again, trying to wriggle out of Mick's grasp. "Gideon- don't you dare! Mick!"

But Gideon dared, going silent and ostensibly removing her presence from the room - as if Len would believe that she wasn't constantly monitoring everything going on on this ship.

And Mick wasn't even pretending to be interested in Len's protests. Whatever Len shouted or verbally flung at Mick's head, he was completely ignored in favour of giving a very hard spanking that was entirely uncalled for. Len knew he'd be sitting on bruises after this and he was not pleased at all.

But neither was Mick.

"You said no hero-shit." Len's breath caught when Mick abandoned silence to lecture. "You said we were just gonna steal shit from history. You said we were partners."

Len clenched his teeth, dropping his head and curling his fingers around Mick's pants-legs to have something to hold onto. He wasn't expecting a lecture at all, not from Mick. Mick was action, not words. The fact that he thought he needed words to make Len understand hurt more than the spanking.

Mick had always spoken with his fists. A spanking was at the same time more gentle and more brutal than getting socked in the nose. A lecture was unheard of.

Fuck, it _hurt_.

"You promised you were a selfish bastard, but guess I didn't expect ya to be _that_ selfish."

Mick landed a flurry of spanks from high on Len's butt to low, making Len kick and groan in pain. The sitting spots… fuck, those were not a myth. Len tried to protect himself with a hand for at least a pause, but all he got was get his wrist pinned to his back and the spanking to pick right back up. Whatever break he'd achieved was far too short.

"How dare you knock me out and leave me, Len?"

_Fuck, fuck fuck-_

That one was actually a proper question, not a statement. And it may be hard to listen into the finer details of Mick's voice right now; Len could perfectly hear the vulnerability behind that question, if only for the fact that Mick called him Len. He never called him that - even in the throes of passion it was a rare thing. Mick liked calling him Snart or some nickname he felt was appropriate in private.

The spanking was painful, but it couldn't hold a candle to the _words_.

"Mick-"

"Shut up."

Len grit his teeth, trying to hold on to Mick's pants-leg with the one hand that wasn't pinned painfully hard on his back. _Mick didn't like words_. But Mick was showing an unusual patience for this spanking, because he normally didn't give something his attention this long unless it was food or fire. Mostly fire.

Then again, the way Len's arse was burning… maybe there actually was fire there. His arse was alight with pain and every smack was sharp, cruel and reverberating through his whole body, making his teeth click. It was loud and painful and Len was grateful Mick had at least taken him to his room before doing this.

"Don't you ever dare pull a stunt like that again, Len."

"Fuck- stop- I _won't_ -"

The spanking stopped as sudden as it started. Mick's hand felt like a hot prong where it was still on Len's skin, branding the outline of his palm and fingers all separately into Len's lighted nerves. The room was quiet, the silence engulfing them like an avalanche. Mick was breathing hard, but Len could only hear the pounding of his own heart and the breaths hissing between his teeth.

"…Mick."

It came out far more vulnerable than intended, and next thing he knew Mick had pulled him up to straddle his lap, rather than lay over it. Their mouth snapped together like magnets, and Len realised with a shock that he could taste the salt of tears.

He lifted his hands to cup Mick's face, finding his cheeks rough with a stubble and wet with the salty water. But then Mick tilted his head, deepening their kiss with an edge of desperation that Len didn't recognise in him, and the back of Len's hands brushed his own face. And he was crying too, apparently.

He pulled away to gasp for breath, searching Mick's eyes for a moment. "How long?"

"Four years," Mick ground out, and then they were back together.

They were back together and Len would never pull a stunt like that on Mick again. He would never let it come to that again. He would never lose Mick or allow Mick to lose him again.

Len didn't know when exactly they fell to the bed together, but he was laying on top of Mick now and they were rutting together like horny teenagers. He would have to ask if Mick abstained for these past four years and make fun of him if he did, because that was so not what their arrangement had ever been.

Not that their arrangement had ever been about self-sacrificing deaths either. Their arrangement had been all fun and play, no strings attached. Just some stress relief between partners.

The way they were kissing now was all strings, all partners.

Frankly, he didn't give a damn.

Len struggled with Mick's pants for a moment before they shoved them down in combined effort, the fabric stiff and way too rough to be grinding against with his bare cock. He sighed a breath of relief when they were skin on skin instead, both fully dressed but with their pants on their knees and not caring in the least. Mick's hand was as rough as it had always been wrapping around their cocks together, and Len only mirrored his grip from the other side so they could envelope the full girth together.

Hot palms and a hotter cock against his own - exactly what Len needed the most right now. Judging by Mick's expression he had been craving it even harder.

It was too easy to just press their lips together again and forget about what that meant. Forget about how they were too intimate for their usual ways of getting off, forget about how emotional they had both gotten moments ago.

Pretending they had never shown any weakness, and the kissing was just raw lust.

Yeah, they could fool themselves like that as long as Mick grunted in time with their stroking hands and Len thrust up against Mick. They could pretend their kiss wasn't sweet as well as passionate - for now.

Mick's breath grew heavy and his movements sloppy, so Len pushed up against him a little harder to take control of his movements. He was sucking his own breaths harshly through his teeth, too happy to listen to Mick's grunts to risk breaking it up with a noise of himself. Less expected was Mick moving his free hand from the small of Len's back up to press between his shoulder blades and drag his face down, not for their lips to meet but for Mick to bite down on Len's neck. The nape of his neck, where Mick had had his hand to manhandle Len all over the place since he got back.

Len growled wordlessly at the stinging pain, stroking a little faster and thrusting a little harder. Mick was definitely sucking a hickey in a spot he wouldn't be able to hide, but so be it. He'd been away for four years so he supposed it wasn't all bad if he started out be re-staking his claim on Mick like this.

Because if someone else had laid hands on Mick - fuck, he'd _end_ them. Even if he was still going to make fun of Mick if he hadn't had sex since Len's supposed death.

He growled again, lower in his throat, and he felt Mick suck _hard._ Next thing they were both toppling over the edge, Len barely a second after Mick, ruining whatever ridiculously domestic shirt Mick had been wearing.

Mick slowly released his grip on their cocks and Len's back, sinking back down on the bed slowly. Len planted his hands on either side of Mick's head on the mattress to keep himself up and take a moment to catch his breath. He was not expecting Mick to rub a thumb over the sensitive hickey, nor for him to take hold of his shoulder the same way as before and drag him down for a slow kiss.

_The slow kiss could not possibly be mistaken for something that didn't have any strings attached_ .

"Mick…" Len started slowly - only to be interrupted by the AI who had promised to be quiet.

"I'm sorry to disturb you two, but the captain asks for the whole crew to meet up on the bridge."

"Fuck the captain," Mick grunted immediately, and if Gideon had been a person from flesh and blood he'd be very impressed with her patience.

"I will leave that up to Director Sharpe, Mr. Rory, but I must insist you come to the bridge."

"We'll be right there, Gideon," Len drawled, before Mick could protest any more. They were already skidding by dangerous edges of _feelings_ , it would be better if they didn't end up doing some post-coital cuddling now. That would just be ridiculous.

There was just one problem with this plan.

Standing back had Len realise his underwear was ripped down the middle, courtesy Mick's earlier hurry to pull his pants down. And there was no way he was going to go commando in jeans while sensitive both back and front from a spanking and an orgasm.

"Mick, lend me some boxers."

"Oh." Mick gestured vaguely towards a pile of laundry in the corner. "Sure."

Len's nose crinkled with disgust, and he was seriously hoping Mick was messing with him. Only this was Mick, so he probably wasn't. Confirmation was when Mick tossed his dirty shirt on said pile and then opened a very empty looking closet to find something new to wear. The shirt he grabbed looked like the last of the stack.

"Tell me you have something clean for me to wear," Len threatened, voice low.

Mick gave him a _look_ like only Mick could, something between unimpressed and 'don't be a pussy', and then reached in the closet for something else. Len caught what Mick threw him, only to realise with growing terror that it was a pair of pale pink silk panties.

" _Mick_."

"The only clean thing I got," Mick shrugged as if it was unimportant. "Was gonna do laundry when you showed up."

"You were sitting around, eating and drinking beer."

Mick huffed noncommittally, pulled his shirt on and started towards the door.

" _Mick!_ "

"I don't care if you wear 'em or not, but you better do it now. Sara gets pissy if we're late." He looked like he thought about that for a moment before grinning. "Lat _er_."

There was really a choice here. Silk panties or rough jeans on over-sensitive skin. He was going to kill Mick for this later.

Mick waited for him by the door, letting him through first just so he could give his sore arse a slap as he passed. "Let's get you to meet the new crew, princess."

"I swear, Mick." Gritted teeth weren't enough to scare Mick anymore. He needed to remind his favourite arsonist what Leonard Snart was made of. _After_ he made it through meeting the rest of the Legends with a bruised arse and an even more bruised ego.

**Author's Note:**

> Klep has been so helpful to me so many times, I figured it was high time I paid back in smut. I'm sorry for only brushing the bonus points with implication, but I'm pretty sure I got everything of the request in _somewhere_.


End file.
